


I'll be the beauty queen in tears

by femme_w1tch_b1tch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, I swear I meant for this to be entirely porn but it ran away from me, I'm a bottom and I'm projecting, Implied/Referenced oral sex, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Mild Praise Kink, Porn With Plot, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Vaginal Fingering, because I'm lazy and I stopped there, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme_w1tch_b1tch/pseuds/femme_w1tch_b1tch
Summary: She hadn’t expected any of this, but, most of all, she hadn’t expected to get back to her dorm after Ancient Runes only to find Pansy Parkinson spread out over her bed, all black, lacy lingerie and pale skin. Her hair is perfect, of course; her lips painted black as her bra and Daphne just… stares, for a bit. It’s not a very composed reaction, but both of her parents are dead now, and they’re the only ones who would care about that, so she forgives herself.(Daphne doesn’t think anyone would be composed if they had Pansy Parkinson lying on their bed looking likethat.)





	I'll be the beauty queen in tears

**Author's Note:**

> Baby be the class clown  
> I'll be the beauty queen in tears  
> It's a new art form showing people how little we care (yeah)  
> We're so happy, even when we're smilin' out of fear  
> Let's go down to the tennis court, and talk it up like yeah (yeah)
> 
> — Tennis Court, Lorde

Daphne doesn’t know what she expected of her eighth year at Hogwarts, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t this. Or — part of it was this. She expected the lack of people; the increase in ghosts. She expected the not-quite-fixed ruin. She’d expected the favouritism, the disdain; the way people look at Slytherin students. That’s not all that different, to be fair.

What she didn’t expect goes like this: a separate, newly-built dorm for the returning eighth-year students. The fact that this newly built dorm isn’t separated by house, or by gender — no. It’s not either of those things. It doesn’t have to be.

Every returning student gets their own private room.

She hadn’t expected any of this, but, most of all, she hadn’t expected to get back to her dorm after Ancient Runes only to find Pansy Parkinson spread out over her bed, all black, lacy lingerie and pale skin. Her hair is perfect, of course; her lips painted black as her bra and Daphne just… stares, for a bit. It’s not a very composed reaction, but both of her parents are dead now, and they’re the only ones who would care about that, so she forgives herself.

(Daphne doesn’t think anyone would be composed if they had Pansy Parkinson lying on their bed looking like _that._ )

“Pansy,” Daphne starts, embarrassed to notice the way her voice cracks mid-way through her friend’s name. Pansy’s lips pull into a smirk at that, the dark lipstick enhancing the movement. Daphne, quite honestly, can’t help but watch it. Swallowing, she tries again. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d have thought that was obvious,” Pansy says. Even in this compromising position, spread out over Daphne’s bed in only her underwear, lips painted and teeth white and skin pale as porcelain, she doesn’t seem embarrassed. There’s no hint of her position in her voice, no flush on her skin. “I’m seducing you.”

Daphne swallows again — a mostly unsuccessful manoeuvre. She’d meant for it to calm her, but Pansy’s eyes fix on the movement of her throat and Daphne can’t help but flush.

And — okay — so what if she’s liked Pansy since fourth year? They’re pureblood heiresses, some of the last of their lines, and they can’t really do _much._ None of this _matters,_ in the end; Daphne will marry some no-name wizard who will take _her_ name, have two or three kids and reinstate the Greengrass family as a Pureblood powerhouse, instead of a fading family with only two members left. Pansy Parkinson will do much the same, with her older brother’s recent death and her parents incarceration.

So this…

This makes no sense.

“Why?” Daphne chokes out, quieter than she’d meant to be. Her voice cracks again. Daphne curses herself, even as she steps closer, shuts the door behind her.

“Because I want to,” Pansy says simply, sitting up, “and because I think that after all this, we deserve to have at least some of the things we want.”

Daphne’s laugh is harsh, pained. “We can’t,” she says. “We have our duties; to our houses and to ourselves.”

“ _Fuck_ our duties!” Pansy exclaims loudly, leaning forward. Daphne flinches, just slightly, and Pansy lowers her voice, apologetic. She reaches out, pulls Daphne closer until they sit side-by-side on the bed, leaning against each other. They probably make quite a funny sight — Daphne in full uniform with tears ruining her mascara, Pansy in only a set of lacy black lingerie and blacker lipstick, snuggled up together. Daphne laughs wetly at the thought and Pansy glances at her in surprise, but eventually continues. “I don’t care if my line dies out. I want _you,_ Daphne Greengrass, not some stuck-up wizard who will probably refuse to take my family name.”

Pansy presses her lips to Daphne’s jaw, a comfort and a proposition all at once. “I know it sucks,” she says, “all the pressure on us, constantly. I want to _help._ I want to let you be just _you_ for once.”

Daphne sniffles at this, once, before she sits up straighter, turning fully to face Pansy. “Okay,” she says, “help me be me, then.”

“Daphne,” Pansy says, sounding almost — almost hesitant. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am!” Daphne says, not sure if she’s more offended or desperate. “What does it matter if I’m only doing this because I want something for myself for once? You said you’d help me forget. Are you going to live up to that or not?” She tilts her chin up, then, haughty and royal and upset, because Pansy will take it as a challenge and if there’s one thing Pansy Parkinson never backs down from, it’s a challenge.

True to form, Pansy’s grin widens into something truly predatory. “Oh, I’ll live up to it,” she says, and slots her lips over Daphne’s.

Daphne melts embarrassingly quickly in response. She lets out a soft moan, feeling Pansy’s lips twitch against her own. “There you go,” she murmurs, slipping Daphne’s outer robe from her shoulders. It pools on the floor and Pansy pulls Daphne further up the bed, working at the knot of Daphne’s tie. “Slytherin green looks amazing on you,” she comments. “A pity to waste that.”

Tilting her head consideringly, Pansy threads the green and silver tie through her fingers. She’s somehow rearranged them, and is now stradling Daphne’s hips, markedly more flushed than she had been when Daphne had first walked in. Daphne counts that as an achievement.

“Hm,” Pansy says, a distinctly teasing note to her voice. “What if…” she trails off, running her free hand down Daphne’s front. Daphne shivers, curious and entranced. Eventually she says, voice low and velvety and commanding enough that Daphne listens instinctively, “Hands above your head.”

When Daphne complies — and of course Daphne complies; who _wouldn’t_ with Pansy looking at them like this, eyes bright and lipstick smudged — Pansy, in a decidedly muggle manoeuvre, leans forward to manually tie Daphne’s hands to the headboard with her own tie. “Good girl,” Pansy mutters. Daphne shudders, an almost imperceptible thing. Pansy notices, though, grinning wickedly.

“Oh,” she murmurs. Her voice, throughout this whole endeavour, has been low and sensual, and Daphne feels something warm pool low in her gut as Pansy says, “you like that.”

“Yes,” Daphne breathes. Pansy smirks, undoing the buttons of Daphne’s shirt with a smooth, practiced little flicks of her wrists. The heat pooling in Daphne’s navel gets hotter, more insistent. She feels like she’s burning. Pansy shifts, moving off her position on Daphne’s thighs in order to slip her skirt from her legs. She takes Daphne’s panties with it, then frowns when she looks back up at where Daphne lies, still in her bra, her shirt open and spread over the bed like wings but still very much on.

Pulling her wand from — Daphne doesn’t know where Pansy got her wand from, actually — somewhere, Pansy vanishes the shirt, along with Daphne’s bra. “There,” Pansy says, sitting back to look at Daphne, spread out, naked and bound and wanting, on her bed. “Gorgeous.”

Pale hands settle on Daphne’s thighs, pushing them apart as Pansy settles between them. Daphne’s mouth goes dry, and she lies there frozen, as Pansy’s hands slowly drift upwards. Using her thumbs, she pulls open Daphne’s folds, watching as Daphne twitches at the cool air. “You’re so wet for me,” she says softly, “just soaking.” Pansy traces one finger slowly up in a feather-light touch, passing over Daphne’s entrance until it rests, just as uncomfortably gently, over Daphne’s clit.

“Please —” Daphne starts, but finds herself cut off by her own moan as, without warning, Pansy slips a finger into Daphne’s entrance. Smirking, Pansy starts _moving it,_ rubbing her finger against Daphne’s walls in a way that drives her crazy. Then Pansy adds another finger and _curls them,_ rubbing up against something that turns her vision white. “ _Fuck,_ ” Daphne says, “Merlin — Pansy!”

Pansy’s eyes light up, and she does whatever movement that was again, and _again,_ until Daphne is an incoherent, begging mess.

“Cmon, Daphne,” Pansy says, her voice unusually slurred; like she’s speaking too fast for her mouth to catch up properly. “You’ve been so good for me, babe.” As she says this, she curls her fingers again and holds them there, abusing that little spot somewhere deep in Daphne’s body that makes her _scream._ And she does just that, as her walls convulse and a wave of overwhelming pleasure crashes over her, leaving her panting in its wake.

“Merlin, Pansy,” Daphne says, trying desperately to catch her breath. She stares at the ceiling, slightly dazed.

Pansy snorts, inelegant, and shoves her panties down her legs. “My turn,” she says, her grin something wicked as she settles herself over Daphne’s face. “Watch the teeth.”

**Author's Note:**

> please help what happened to my writing


End file.
